Random Stuff I Feel Like Telling You
I love this guy.
I secretly loved him since the day I met him 1993, and then I wrote it down on a piece of paper in late 1999 when it hit me that I had to do something about it, and then I said it out loud to him in late 2000 after we had started dating, and then I said I'd do it forever in June 2001, and I could still photograph him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes every day forever. The only reason I'm sad that we won't live longer than 80–100 years is that I won't get to be married to him for 400 years.
No, it's not our anniversary, and, no, neither of us is dying or anything. I just want to be clear about the fact that my insides have the consistency of melted caramels on a hot dashboard.
Yes, you may all go puke now.
I also love this cat.
I'm losing all my street cred here, but this cat, Onion, is my non-human boyfriend. He insists on daily naps during which I have to spoon him for no less than ten minutes or he pees in my shoes, and this somehow makes me love him more. Basically, I am forced to spoon 17 pounds of snuggles every day, if I want to keep my footwear. This is probably also good for my blood pressure, so he's saving me from strokes.
If I could clone him but subtract the jealousy and vengeance aspects of his personality, I would give you each an Onion for Christmas.
I love old radiators.
We finally bought our own place in the fall. It is 99 years old, and the radiators are ancient and caked in layers of old, metallic paint that are surely killing us, but I can't bring myself to strip them. I love the caked up paint all cracked up.
When I suddenly become a genius and cut off a body part and do remarkable things and then drop dead, it's my beloved radiators. Please know that I knew all along. Write me a tragically romantic obituary.